Peter and the Starcatchers: Chapters 1–8

The tired old carriage, pulled by two tired old horses, rumbled onto the wharf, its creaky wheels bumpety-bumping on the uneven planks, waking Peter from his restless slumber.

The man made a face as if he’d just bitten into a rancid prune.

The boys hesitated, taking their first good look at the Never Land. It wasn’t as big as they’d expected, and it looked old and poorly kept—frayed ropes, peeling paint, barnacles and green slime climbing the hull from the waterline.

In an instant the pain in his bent old spine, the throbbing pain that he’d lived with since almost his first day on the docks, was gone. So was the aching weariness in his legs.

“Pembridge could capsize a dinghy on dry land.”

The ship had been loaded and provisioned; the crew was preparing to cast off.

Some were looking around anxiously at the decrepit ship, and the scruffy crew in whose hands they were placing their lives.

They looked plainly scared, except for one, a wiry boy with bright orange hair—not the largest of the lot, but the one who seemed to be in charge.

Peter trotted aft on the Never Land’s bustling deck, dodging the sailors making final preparations for casting off and getting under way.

He’d not seen many girls over the past few years; St. Norbert’s had had only one, the headmaster’s daughter, an unpleasant, sallow-faced child who amused herself by dropping spiders onto the heads of boys passing beneath her third-floor window.

The girl stood next to a stout woman, wearing a wide-ranging and complicated skirt and wielding a formidable black umbrella.

The girl stood next to a stout woman, wearing a wide-ranging and complicated skirt and wielding a formidable black umbrella.

She was watching him intently.

Mrs. Bumbrake blushed and tilted her head down, raising her eyes so she could bat them at the smitten Slank.

“...these here lovely ladies,” he said, turning back to Peter and James, “do not want to be bothered by riffraff like you.”

Peter glanced over the side at the dark water, gauging the distance to land, but he’d never tried to swim, and knew this was not the time or the place to learn.

Over the years, many ships had struck these rocks and sunk; they lay in pieces scattered everywhere, masts, bows, keels.

“And if this scurvy dog is wrong,” said Black Stache, his black eyes boring in on the terrified prisoner, “then he’ll wish he’d never been born, that I vow.”

The boys were shown to their quarters in the Never Land by a gaunt, hollow-eyed sailor called Hungry Bob.

The floor was bare, except for a chipped crockery pot in the corner.

Peter didn’t know anything about ships, but he could see immediately that they were merely pretending to do something nautical.

The men were smiling openly now, making no effort to hide their contempt for the little round man.

Through his glass, Black Stache saw the Wasp’s gleaming black hull race for the horizon, cutting a foaming white wake in the deep blue-green of the ocean.

His prey would turn and come to help, only to be rewarded for this act of mercy by being attacked. But Black Stache knew that even if he could get the Sea Devil close, the Wasp’s captain, Scott, was too experienced to fall for that ploy.

Below, the crew had finished hog-tying the first man and had started on a second, also a portly fellow.

“Smee,” said Black Stache, savoring his own malignant brilliance. “Water is heavy, right?”

He looked down at the deck, where the two fat pirates had been hefted into the dory, which was now being lowered alongside the ship.

“Good riddance,” Black Stache growled, and he spat again, a major gob, this time hitting Smee’s other foot. He turned to face the crew, now watching him warily.

Work hard, if you don’t want to join those two bales of lard drifting astern.

Several times now, the boys had heard the captain staggering around on the main deck, shouting senseless commands (“HEAVE TO ON THE STIZZENS! FURL THE YARDARM!”) to the vast enjoyment of the crew.

And so, as the third day turned into the third night, and the boys prepared for another restless, hungry night in their dank little cabin, listening to James whimpering—and rats scuttling—Peter made up his mind: he would steal some food.

Slank surely wasn’t eating the swill that the boys got, and he just as surely wasn’t feeding it to the first-class passengers, like that girl Molly and her governess.

He saw a small knot of crewmen a few yards aft, looking off the ship’s port rail, talking; otherwise, the deck appeared to be empty.

He eased himself out of the ladderway and slid on his belly to the starboard side, away from the men.

As he neared the stern of the ship he heard loud talk and laughter coming from a cabin window.

The guard, his mouth agape, was staring at something above the shape.

As Peter and the guard stared at the rat, it waved its legs slowly, almost languidly, as if swimming, and began to drift toward the doorway, toward Peter.

Although they could have eaten several more loaves, the worst of their hunger pangs were satisfied, and after they finished the last crumbs, they all quickly drifted off to sleep.

They tried using their hands to bail out the dory, but it was hopeless: for every handful of water they scooped out, the waves brought more in.

“Someone’s waving at us!” he shouted, jumping up so violently that the much abused dory finally did capsize, leaving the two pirates swimming, or trying to.